__________________________________
After Skalp’s Boom, Gorgosha found herself a quiet grassy knoll, and began contemplating her fleeting memories of the legendary uruk she had known as Skalpboila. She thought of his fearsome image, his words that inspired dozens of orcs like herself and his legacy, a united Krugmar, slowly but surely regaining the strength it claimed by right.
The fe-orc rested her head back on the dry grass, eyes roving over the sky above her as she lay there deep in thought. They hardened as she grimaced with regret, regret at not meeting the red skinned orc who had saved her brother’s life earlier, at not having had enough time to know him properly as a brudda.
But the grimace softened into a smile, as she lifted a hand to prod at her freshly scarred, slightly crooked nose. The wound was still tender to touch, but she embraced the pain, and the reminder it brought of the promise she had made, and the memory of that brilliant, burned uruk whom she had made it to.
“Ang Gund Griizh, brudda.
Mi’ll mayk lat proud.”
__________________________________